


An Ally Better than the Sidhe

by Hyarrowen



Category: Flight of the Heron - D. K. Broster
Genre: Duty, Enemies Working Together, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, M/M, Scottish Folklore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-02
Updated: 2013-12-02
Packaged: 2018-01-03 06:05:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1066963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyarrowen/pseuds/Hyarrowen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the autumn of 1746, Major Windham is patrolling the west coast of Scotland in search of Bonnie Prince Charlie - but finds something completely unexpected instead. </p><p>  <em>'There are stories of water-horses in these hills...'</em></p><p>A canon divergence in which Alison has dumped Ewen at Inverness instead of marrying him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Ally Better than the Sidhe

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Igenlode Wordsmith's very excellent HP story "Water-horse", which is here:  
> https://www.fanfiction.net/s/9435518/1/Water-horse
> 
> Thanks as always to theficklepickle for the beta; and to heloise1415 for help with matters naval and folkloric.
> 
> My headcanon at this point is that Alison Grant did not marry Ewen just before Culloden, but stood by her initial refusal to do any such thing, and indeed broke off the betrothal in the face of Ewen's insistence. In my mind she went on to marry young Grant of Shewglie, with whom she was talking at the ball at Holyrood House, but that doesn't come into this story.
> 
> The title is from _The Gleam in the North._

_'You cannot shoot a water-horse...'_

                 Prologue, The Flight of the Heron

 

Once again the Highland weather was taking a turn for the worse; there were mares'-tails streaking the sky, crossing the narrowing inlet of Loch Nevis. They warned of fiercer winds to come; even in mid-August, Scotland was all too capable of producing such weather. For now, though, the wind sent the little cutter fast on her way, on what Major Windham had perforce learned was the starboard tack, between the grim mountain-walls of Knoydart and the scarcely less inaccessible coast of North Morar. He was glad they had the Navy's assistance in partway reaching their objective; they were approaching the steep shoreline of Morar now, with its ramparts of hills each of which would, in happier climes, have been called a mountain. Keith, after a year in the Highlands, was resigned to the appellation of hills, and was only thankful that there was no need to scale these heights; his objective lay at the head of the sea-loch and an ascent would only slow their progress down.

Standing on the _Merlin_ 's poop-deck, well out of the way of Captain Mason, he surveyed his men with some approval. Faced with hours in the company of the Navy, service rivalry had seen to it that they had, without urging, smartened themselves up considerably. Their normal comfortable marching array had been straightened, cleaned and indeed polished, although their uniforms were variously faded from months in the capricious Highland summer.

 _Merlin_ 's crew treated their passengers with indifference for the most part, working round them as if they were so much deck cargo, which was, Keith supposed, more or less the case, with no more than a few muttered comments exchanged. But now the cutter had almost reached her destination, the snug little harbour at Tarbet, on the isthmus between lochs Nevis and Morar; the sails were coming down, except for jib and topsail, and the _Merlin_ was turning into the wind with these all a-rattle. The anchor went down with a rush of cable, the sails finally hung slack, and _Merlin_ came to rest.

'Well, Major, we've brought you as close as we may!' Captain Mason, scarce old enough to be let out alone in Keith's opinion, seemed satisfied with his crew's performance. Down in the waist of the cutter, a junior officer, younger yet, was overseeing the lowering of the boat.

'Thank-you, Captain.' He raised his voice. 'Sergeant Franklin, have the men ready to board the boats!' And with admirable precision, they began to do just that.

Mason, though keeping the appearance of relaxed confidence, had half an eye on the weather, and seemed, like his ship, to be poised on the brink of flight.

'You've a way to go yet, I think, sir?' enquired Keith politely.

'Yes, we're to pick up the poor devils in Knoydart and take them round to the north coast.' Poor devils indeed; they had drawn the Ultima Thule of postings. Knoydart made even Morar look civilised, and Keith was unreservedly thankful that he had not been sent there. 'Then they'll start patrolling all over again. You've an easy task by comparison, Major Windham!'

'The task is what you make of it; that's why we draw our pay, after all.'

'Such as it is! But that's life in the King's service. Well, Major, you must be on your way and I on mine; I wish you good luck!'

He touched his hat, and Keith responded in kind; then ran down the ladders and took his place in the boat. The oars dipped, and he and his patrol were rowed past the _Merlin_ 's yellow hull and the blue falcon figurehead which showed to uncommon advantage against it; thence to the rough jetty at Tarbet, the only possible harbour on this shore of Nevis, and an admirable one at that.

His men formed up with commendable swiftness while the boat pushed off; he gave the midshipman commanding a word of thanks. Across the water, the _Merlin_ was already hoisting sail. Time was he would have been professionally wary at being thus isolated in the Highlands; but the red web had the entire region most firmly subdued, so it was with confidence that he made his dispositions. His ensign, Hughes, was to go back along the shore to watch the mouth of the loch and the coast of Skye opposite; Sergeant Franklin to cross the isthmus here at Tarbet and thence to the eastern end of Loch Morar; and he himself, with Corporal Fletcher, to the head of Loch Nevis, there to patrol the two narrow glens which penetrated eastward into the fastness of Lochaber.

Twenty miles away to the east, and a little south, was Fort William, and the great mountain which, for no reason that Keith could fathom, shared a name with the loch along which he was now marching. But, were they to proceed there, it would take two days by road, such was the inconvenient nature of the terrain. Thirty miles east, slightly to the north, was Fort Augustus. Here, as he marched at the head of his men under the rugged hills of North Morar, those links in the iron chain that stretched along the Great Glen seemed separated not just by distance and inexpressibly forbidding mountains, but an age away in time too. Those neat ordered camps, with their rows of tents and their scarlet-clad inhabitants, were to his mind the last islands of civilisation. This west coast, though he knew it all too well now, would never cease to be hostile and forbidding.

And yet. Midway between those two fortresses, beyond a series of mountain-tops which a giant might use as stepping-stones, was Loch na h-Iolaire. He smiled a little at the thought of it, though here, watching for the Pretender's son, he was carrying out a duty of which its owner would never approve. There stood a comfortable though modest house, with fire on the hearth and books on the shelves, and there, he devoutly hoped, hidden somewhere beyond the reach of Keith's own countrymen, was its laird: maybe resting in a shieling, maybe lying in the heather, looking up at the sky and wondering whether the faint haze in the western sky would reach Ardroy. And maybe, from a safe eyrie, he was watching a Government patrol go by, and thinking of Keith as Keith was thinking of him.

The leader of this particular patrol drew his mind firmly back to the matter at hand, for they were now approaching the head of Loch Nevis. This consisted of mudflats and saltings, and a couple of treed islets, and streams dropping into the loch from either side of a great beak of a mountain which faced him head-on, glowing purple and dull gold in a last stray gleam of the sun before the clouds closed in. The more northerly stream, he knew from his map, led into desolate country north of Lochaber; the other descended from a watershed beyond which was Loch Arkaig and Achnacarry – Lochiel's house – and the Great Glen and Ardroy beyond.

Perhaps it was this circumstance which led him to say, 'Corporal, take your men and reconnoitre the northern valley. Be back here by nightfall.' Fletcher saluted and led his half-dozen off around that jutting mountain, while Keith and the remainder of his men turned into the first valley, which sheltered a scatter of ruined huts which were to provide a bivouac of a sort tonight. Half a mile beyond them, the valley abruptly steepened into a sharp slope, which formed a barrier beyond which could be seen only the mountain-tops which walled it in. Keith eyed the slope. It was simultaneously steep and boggy (and only in the Highlands could that happen!) but there was a faint path threading down it, made by deer, perhaps, and doubtless people used the route too from time to time. It was the kind of route a fugitive might take.

'Sinclair, Cross, Jones, stay behind and make camp. Mackay, Gregory, follow me.' Without looking at them, he could sense the smug smiles of the first three and the resignation of the latter; which moved him not a whit. He started up the deer-path.

-x-

A hundred feet up, with Mackay, his orderly, close on his heels and Gregory puffing behind, he stopped to survey the terrain. Ahead, the slope continued with unabated gradient to a crest which he assumed, from long experience, to be a false one; doubtless there would be at least one more before the upper valley could be gained. Bog-grass, bare rock and peat rose before his eyes; mountains walled them in on either side. He turned to the west, and beyond the figures of his men, toiling in his wake, the loch arrowed back beyond Tarbet, its surface shivering here and there in a wandering breeze. The _Merlin_ , reduced to the size of a toy, had all but reached the shores of Knoydart. The voices of Sinclair and Cross drifted up to him, and fainter yet, he could hear Fletcher's party in the next valley. But of other humanity in all that vast prospect there was no sign.

They climbed again, in silence. It was steep work.

The first crest achieved, they plodded on to the second, a rock-step over which a waterfall plunged in thin thunder, as if over the lower tread of a titan's staircase. Above that, clouds, of a menacing dark grey, marched in to seal over the little valley as it narrowed towards the watershed. The air was heavy with moisture, even though it was not yet raining. Still, if the threat of a soaking were capable of diverting Keith from his aims, he would have done little or nothing in all his year in the Highlands. But the path they were following was distinct enough, and with luck they would gain the true crest before the weather closed in.

As they clambered over the rocks at the head of the waterfall with the long sweep of the upper valley behind it, the wind pounced on them with a force that could not have been guessed at below. It hissed in the heather, flattened the white pennants of the bog-grass, and even the few small shrubby trees along the stream waved and threshed frantically. Keith and Mackay looked at each other in astonishment. 'Is this weather usual?' asked Keith, and the orderly answered, 'It is not something I have seen often, no!'

'We'll go on a little way, even so,' said Keith, pointing ahead to a rocky hillock from which a better view could be gained; and in the teeth of the gale they forced their way towards it. This laudable resolution went awry, however, when Gregory misplaced his footing in some cranny among the heather, and went down with a curse; and, on trying to rise, let loose such a flood of invective that Keith was impressed as well as impatient.

'Sorry, sir,' he said at the end of this tirade, and Keith replied, 'In the circumstances I believe it is justified. Can you sit on that boulder, if we help you up?'

'I'll give it a try, sir.'

He and Mackay between them assisted Gregory to sit on the grey lichened rock, and propped the injured limb up on another, but after a single attempt forbore from drawing the man's boot off for closer inspection. It was all too clear that he could climb no further.

And yet, there was that rocky eminence, half a mile away, and with the weather closing in, a fugitive might easily slip past the patrol and make his way to the sea. Keith made a swift decision. 'Start back to the camp with him, Mackay. I'll follow when I've had a look over the watershed.'

Mackay looked dubious, but acquiesced, and with some assistance from Keith, got Gregory upright, and they moved off down-valley.

Keith pulled his hat more firmly down on his head, and trudged on towards the hillock. He was deeply unhappy himself; the rain was somehow flying straight into his face now, and drifting veils of it interposed themselves between him and his goal. In the upper valleys of the mountain-walls, great columns of mist were turning like gigantic, spectral dancers. He was reluctant to admit it, even to himself, but he was glad of his pistols in their holsters and the sword at his side; but no such will-o'-the-wisp would ever divert him from his purpose.

The hill-top, on being gained, showed him a long and saturated vista. Crags and boulders marched away to the east, and close at hand there was a lochan, and he thought he could discern another such beyond it. But peer as he might from under the dripping brim of his hat, and although the deer-path which he had been following was now a well-defined track, he could see no sign of human activity in all that miserable prospect.

He himself, though, was a plain enough target for anyone close enough to shoot at him, and with memories of the attack at Corryarick, and after one last, careful look along that desolate valley, he decided that enough was enough. He turned to descend the hill – and found that the mist had crept round behind him unnoticed, and a bank of it now lay between him and the lower valley.

He was entirely resigned to such tricks of the weather hereabouts, and in any case the path and the stream would show him his way. So he strode down into the drifting white, and in a few paces it closed its embrace around him.

The wind was still blowing, at his back now; but it agitated the mist into swirling opacity that dazzled his eyes and utterly disorientated him. And was the wind shifting quarters, or was he being buffeted into a new direction? But there was the path before him, with the deer-tracks visible in the mud from time to time; and surely now he could hear the animals themselves, for there was the sound of hooves - or was it the wind galloping past? He had been too long in Scotland; a year of mist and rain had got into his blood and evicted his military pragmatism. And he had had personal experience of the Highlands' uncanny nature in his foreshadowed meetings with Ardroy. Peering into the mist, he fought a sense of menace that had him baffled and irritated in equal measure.

The hoof-beats receded; away off to his right and at a height far above his present position was the unmistakeable sound of a kill. There were surely no longer wolves in the kingdom, even here? And yet... Keith drew one of his pistols, and marched on; he should get back to his men without delay.

He listened again. Nothing; nor anything to see except that lustrous blankness. There was nothing for his eyes to fasten on, except the ground close by, and he focussed on that, for otherwise he became a little dizzy. Fortunately the stream was close at hand. He made his way over to it, abandoning the deer-path as he did so, and began to follow it downhill. His breathing was loud in his own ears.

He drew closer to the first waterfall, the mist growing more clammy as he went. Once he'd gained its foot, he'd be fifty feet lower, and maybe out from under this damned woolly ceiling. And with that hope in mind, he holstered his pistol, the better to negotiate the path beside the falls, and scrambled down from rock to grey, damp rock, thankful for the noise of the water that would cover the sound of his going, yet all the time straining his ears to hear what he could above the cascade.

On the little patch of level ground at the foot of the falls he halted – and was glad he had done so, for there was another drumming of hooves, and at the edge of vision the veriest glimpse of something fleeting by. No soldier should be as disconcerted as he at the sight of a horse crossing a stream! But his heart was undeniably beating faster at the glimpse of a shape that might have been formed from the mist itself – white, and moving at a speed that would surely result in broken legs for the animal. And yet, the head was held low, and it was circling round with a swiftness and surety that put him in mind of a hunting cat. But what could a horse be hunting?

The thing was gone so quickly that he could almost dismiss the sight, but his heart was thumping wildly in a way that it had never done before a battle. There were more distant hoof-beats, this time up in the high corries above him; the deer that had fled earlier, no doubt. He looked up - uselessly, he knew - then continued his slow way beside the stream.

An upright stone loomed out of the mist. Odd. He had no memory of a standing stone, but there it was -

Not a stone, but a man. It was an insubstantial figure, wedged into a corner of the boulders that marched along the stream, muffled in a garment of no particular colour that made him look like a boulder himself.

Keith stopped short. It was the last man on Earth he wanted to meet.

'Ardroy. You should not be here.' He drew his pistol, and raised it. 'Since you are here – ah, you know what I must do.'

Ardroy turned his head smiled, and stood. And Keith saw with astonishment that the plaid appeared to be his only garment, and his hair - that bright auburn hair - the only touch of colour in that misty scene – was soaking wet.

'You've gone into the stream? Your followers – ah, no matter. I must take you prisoner.'

And still Ardroy smiled, and extended his hand, the plaid falling away from one bare shoulder as he did so, and made his slow way through the heather towards Keith.

'Ardroy!' he cried. 'What's wrong? Answer me!'

'Windham!' The shout came from a little further up the valley-side. It was an urgent, warning cry – and it was in Ardroy's own voice.

The figure before him, still mute, turned, fast as a snake, head up – then whipped round and sprang away, vanishing into the mist. Keith gasped in startlement, swayed on the brink of a drop, the ground falling away right at his feet, far enough to break bones -

He drew in another clammy breath, fought for balance, glanced round wildly and saw solid ground behind him. He stumbled back a pace, two – and then another figure was scrambling down out of the mist towards him. Ardroy, fully clothed in kilt and coat and plaid, limping – and speaking to him quite distinctly, as the other Ardroy had not.

'My God, Windham, what were you thinking of? I heard you call out, and there you were right on the edge of that drop. You looked like a sleep-walker!' He arrived at Keith's side with an awkward rush, and this Ardroy was solid, and real, and visibly worried.

'I - ' Keith could barely speak. 'I saw you. There.' He pointed, out across the blank mist beyond the drop. 'You didn't speak. You only had a plaid – and now you're fully dressed, and talking. Maybe it was a trick of the mist.'

Ardroy stepped back a halting pace, and stared. Then his hand dropped to the hilt of his broadsword. Keith stared in his turn, and raised his pistol again.

'Never mind that pistol. Draw your sword.'

'What?' He heard the incredulity in his own voice.

'Touch the blade. In God's name, Windham, do as I say!'

His eyes never leaving Ardroy's face, Keith part-drew his sword.

'Touch the blade. Go on!'

He set his fingers on the blued steel; it was cold under them.

Ardroy exhaled sharply. 'God be thanked. Oh, you withstood His Name, but the iron is the other test. So: you're Keith Windham of the Royal Scots, and I'm Ewen Cameron of Ardroy, and whatever was down there was... something else.'

Keith felt annoyance stir. 'I might ask you to take the same test!'

Ardroy blinked at him for a moment, then part-drew the broadsword, and touched the blade. 'There's enough and enough that you can ask me, but I would speak of the Prince's cloak at Edinburgh – yes, it was his! - and your father's friend whose name you bear. But ask me what you will!'

It was inevitable that Keith's mind could supply him with no suitable questions, but then he snapped, 'Why you ever got embroiled in this ridiculous business. And I know I'll never get a proper answer to that question. So I'll ask you another: what are you doing here, alone?'

Ardroy sighed. 'We should get away from this place. I'll tell you as we go.'

'Go where?'

'Away from the water – and from that drop. Come, we can skirt along the side of the glen.'

Ardroy took another faint deer-path, but they made a slow beginning and it was increasingly obvious that his injured leg was not fully healed. Since there was an unspoken agreement that they should not be out of sight of one another, Keith clambered along beside him. Before long they were yards above the stream, which was now lost to sight beneath its enfolding mists. But once they had made a little height, and were brushing through bracken thigh-deep on either side, Ardroy told the story of his sudden appearance in Glen Nevis.

Having made the decision to go into exile, Ardroy had made a slow journey towards the coast, along the mountains north of Loch Arkaig. He himself was riding a garron; one of his tenants, and young Angus MacMartin, accompanied him on tough mountain ponies. The journey had gone well enough; they had travelled mostly by night, since the moon was so bright. But the last night of their journey had been different. They had crossed the watershed a few miles to the east, and started along the lochan that lay in the narrow pass. The mist was rising from it, and after a few hours' rest, hiding like foxes in a narrow gap between two crags, they decided to push on, since it was thick enough to afford them some concealment.

'We had to drop right down into the mist to find the path: but something else found us instead. The horses startled at something and took flight. Duncan and Angus fared better than I – with this leg I'm not so well able to control a horse – and I was ahead of them anyway. I should have gone back!' Frustration was evident in his voice. 'But the garron took me off at a run, and threw me at the last, and the leg – well, I could not walk for a while.'

'You were unconscious with the pain,' supplied Keith, in no mood to mince words.

Ewen pointedly ignored this. 'I cast about me as best I could, but shouting was out of the question. And it seemed to me that the best thing to do was find the burn and make for the sea, since that was our objective and we'd arranged a rendezvous in case we'd been separated.

'But I was uneasy the whole way.' He drew a sharp breath; he'd turned his foot on some obstruction or other. Keith waited without comment while Ardroy recovered from his stumble. 'I came upon a deer that had been killed. If there were still wolves in Scotland I'd say that wolves had done it – but the prints around it weren't dog-like at all. They were hoof-prints, and bloody.' Keith felt a sensation as if eyes were fastened on his back, but his steady pace changed not a whit. 'Well, a man's fancy will work upon him when he's alone and near enough helpless, and I got myself away from that place as quickly as I could.

'I was glad to find the burn, but the wind got up and the light was failing. All I wanted was to get to the rendezvous, and I'm not too proud to say that I wanted company. And I found it, when you shouted. Or at least, I saw you, or rather, two of you, and one of you looked as though you'd just climbed out of the burn and the other was on the brink of that drop. So I shouted too, and one of the Keith Windhams disappeared into the mist – or transformed - ' He fell silent.

'But it was you I saw, not myself!' exclaimed Keith. 'How can that be?'

There was a boulder by the side of the path, brother to the one that Gregory had sat upon, and Ardroy stopped and did likewise. 'I must rest for a while. I have a thought about that, and it's to do with those hoof-prints I saw. So: education in France notwithstanding, there are stories of water-horses in these hills.'

'Water-horses - ! Ardroy, the mist's addled your brain.' Keith had heard stories of this and that unearthly creature roaming the Highlands, one could hardly escape doing that; and he was about to expostulate further when Ardroy cut in.

'Before you tell me I'm a credulous fool, may I remind you of old Angus' seeing the two of us, brought together by the heron, and meeting five times? And now we have met five times.'

That brought Keith up short; his mind grappled anew with the impossibility that Old Angus had foreseen the future – and shied away from the next thought, _then this might be the last time_. Instead, he returned to the problem of the apparition by the waterfall. 'Why did I see you? Why did you see me?'

'Who knows?' said Ardroy, rather shortly; perhaps his leg was paining him. 'Some of those creatures spin enchantments to catch their prey. So it thought to draw one or other of us in.'

He was obviously not going to pursue the subject, and Keith revolved the question in his mind for a few moments. How could the water-horse (given that there was a water-horse, which he sincerely doubted) know of his friendship with Ewen? Or did it just spin a kind of blanket attraction, in which case -

Ewen had seen a simulacrum of Keith Windham that looked as though it had just climbed out of the stream. Was it half-naked, perhaps, like the semblance of Ewen that Keith had seen?

He made a firm resolve to stop thinking along those lines.

'There are more immediate matters that we must consider. For instance: Ardroy, I must take you prisoner.'

'No,' said Ardroy, almost with a laugh. 'I've been a prisoner once. Not again, I thank you, Major Windham.'

'Then if you try to escape, I must disable you. Don't make me do that.'

Ardroy sobered, and looked at him with something approaching compassion. 'You must shoot me, you mean. Well, better that, and at your hands, than Carlisle Gate.'

That brought Keith's head up sharply. 'I'll not be your executioner, Ardroy!' he said, with real anger. 'Don't imagine that I will – not for a moment! But I warn you I'll incapacitate you!'

And Ardroy blinked at his vehemence. 'I'm sorry, Windham. That was selfish of me. I'll try not to let it come to that. You have my word.'

'See that you don't,' snapped Keith, and Ardroy smiled ruefully.

'Windham. I'll give you no parole. If you must shoot, you must; and if you want me disarmed, you must do it yourself. But you're forgetting what's out there in the mist.'

So lost in his dilemma as he had been, Keith had indeed forgotten the menace that might be stalking them; and indeed, now that he had company, and the best company, its power seemed diminished. Now he paused, remembering that silent, smiling, half-naked figure.

'A trick of the mist,' he said, and heard the uncertainty in his own voice.

Ardroy gave a little grimace. 'If you'd have it so. I'll not tell you the stories my foster-mother told me – not here, not now.'

'Your foster-mother! What have such stories got to do with the here and now?'

'She was Old Angus's wife, after all, and he knew that we would meet. That has everything to do with the here and now.' He glanced round at the mist, which, driven by the wind, all but plucked at their clothes. 'And we know each other and won't easily be deceived again. I'd rather stay together, Carlisle notwithstanding. We can decide later what to do if we get out of this mist.'

Keith stared. 'If.'

'You're in my country now, Major Windham.' The sudden formality startled him. 'The chances are that you won't find your way back to your own without me. And I think I'm in as much danger as you. So I propose a truce for now: that you don't try to shoot me if I don't try to escape.'

'Ardroy - '

'And in the meantime, consider why it showed itself to you in my form – and to me in yours.'

That silenced him. So Ardroy had been wondering that too, had he? He holstered his pistol, saying grimly, 'I wish I'd never mentioned that.'

'I'm glad you did. Now,' he gazed round, 'We must be out of this mist. And the loch-side might be no safer – but where else to go?'

'If we have to fight this water-horse of yours – which I do not for a moment believe - '

'Yes. If, then.'

'I'd rather choose our ground for it.'

'So would I, for all that I'll be little enough use in a fight.'

Keith sighed inwardly. Ardroy's injured leg; he'd momentarily forgotten it, but the memory of it in the shieling on Ben Loy, cut almost down to the bone, rose up behind his eyes again. If it came to a fight, he'd have to protect Ardroy.

'We'd best get started, then.' For the alternative was to stay here, talking, frightened to move like children in the dark, waiting for -

He closed his mind to whatever thought had begun to take shape in it. 'Can you walk?' he asked, briskly.

'Yes - or at least, I can limp.'

-x-

They went slowly down that dank enclosed valley. In spite of himself, Keith was really glad of a friend at his side; for all his professed scorn at the idea of the water-horse, his skin continued to prickle at imagined watching eyes. He was careful not to let Ardroy out of his sight, and was grimly amused to see that Ardroy was doing exactly the same thing with regards to him.

'I'll need your help here,' said Ardroy suddenly, as they approached another steep descent. It was certainly too much for him to manage alone.

They looked at each other uncertainly. Then Keith held out his arm, and Ardroy put a hand in the crook of his elbow, and so they proceeded a few yards down the drop, until Ardroy slipped and staggered a little.

'Here. Over my shoulder,' and Keith arranged his arm thus, and put his own round Ardroy's waist.

'My thanks.' Ardroy was unusually uncommunicative, and Keith, dealing with his own uncertain footing and a more than doubled weight, had no words to spare, even though his month of patrolling the coast had toughened him considerably. They negotiated the descent, and it wasn't until they had reached its foot that Keith realised that Ardroy could have helped himself to one of those pistols at any time. But then again, he supposed, he could not reach his friends alone... and anyway he had given his word.

He dismissed the thought - and then forgot it utterly, for there were soft hoof-beats downstream.

He and Ewen looked at each other.

'If we could but saddle the damned thing!' Keith was moved to remark.

'You'd need its bridle for that, and only one person has ever been able to do it. But it's not something I could ever do – and your pardon, but I don't think you could either.'

'You will think of something else, then, I am sure.'

Even since Fort Augustus, their – _friendship_ \- had reached new heights; here he was, the embittered and cynical soldier, engaged in a verbal passage of arms with a Jacobite, in the certain knowledge that his remarks would not be resented. Indeed, Ardroy simply smiled, and if his grip on Keith's shoulder now loosed, it was merely to take hold of his arm. Though neither of them mentioned it, it was very plain that he would need assistance from now on.

A little while later, Ardroy's head went up. 'Over there,' he said quietly. 'What do you think?'

Some way behind them they had passed a grassy mound, covered with fern and crowned with birches, and as if it were a gate, passed beyond it into a rocky embayment in the valley. In this sheltered spot, the grass grew more lushly; there was a copse of stunted oak and hazel, and further on, the ground rose sharply in a low cliff.

'As good a place as any to rest,' said Keith. 'As for being a good place to fight, if need be... well, it can't come at us down that cliff.'

'We'll stop, then.' Ardroy. 'If it's truly a water-horse we're dealing with, we should go no closer to the loch.'

'My men,' said Keith.

'Safe enough while it's stalking us.' Ardroy's breath was coming rather short now. 'Windham, I must stop for a while.'

Keith cast a concerned glance at the pale face so near his own, saw that this was true, and made to help him to a boulder lying against the rocky wall of the valley. 'No, wait,' said Ardroy. 'I've only been to Glen Nevis once before, and my memory may be at fault, but tell me: did you see this little valley as you came up?'

That gave Keith pause. 'No,' he replied.

'Nor can I remember it.' Ardroy did not elaborate further.

'What do you mean?'

'I think your men, and mine, might not be in any danger at all.'

'Ridiculous!'

'Nevertheless. Yet it doesn't mean that we have any less of a need to deal with that creature - and this is the best place for a trap that we've seen.' He jerked his head at the cliff. 'I'll be the bait, over there.'

'Ardroy, have you taken leave of your wits?'

'No, I assure you. But I can't walk any further, so I at least must stop here.'

Keith took one more look at him, and made to pilot him over to the boulder. But Ardroy shook his head. 'No. Listen, instead. I would simply tell you to go, and leave me – no, listen. We need to stay in sight of each other. So. I'll entice it closer, and you may stay hidden and take the creature when it comes for me.'

Astonished beyond measure at this lethal plan – which was, after all, entirely consistent with Ardroy's notions of chivalric conduct – Keith wasted no breath on the impossible task of dissuading him from its essentials. Ardroy was, after all, incapable of running or fighting in the manner required. So instead he said, 'We must rest anyway,' carefully not using the phrase 'You must rest,' although he himself was not over-tired. 'And I agree with you, this place will do well enough. But _I'll_ be the bait, and you may come to my aid should I need it. No,' as Ardroy looked likely to protest, 'that's my final word. See, there's a place where you may lie hid.'

A short while later, Ardroy was established in a corner where two huge boulders met, hidden from full view of the misty glade, and, recovered somewhat from his exertions, had told Keith all that he knew of water-horses.

'Doubtless the thing can smell us,' thought Keith, but kept this idea to himself as he waited with his back to the low cliff, where he could see the fifty yards or so to the oak trees. His uniform coat would be a beacon in this world of greys and whites, but he would not shed that for man nor beast – nor any other creature.

The little valley was very quiet; indeed, its silence seemed to Keith to intensify. The mist, pearl-white, dank and cool, wreathed between rocks and trees which added their dripping moisture to the scene. Twenty paces in front of him and to his left was Ardroy, propped up against his boulder. His eyes never left Keith.

Some way away, over to his right, the ferny knoll with its crown of birches bulked at the edge of his vision; straight ahead, but out of sight, the stream dropped noisily over a series of small falls. That was where the water-horse would attack from, surely? If the creature did indeed exist, and was not some product of the mist and loneliness of the glen.

But there was no loneliness now, nor had there been for the last hour. For there was Ardroy waiting, hand on the hilt of his drawn broadsword – and his own hand likewise clenched on his pistol-butt.

'It won't stop a water-horse,' Ardroy had said, with certainty.

'It may give it pause. Who knows, it may even summon help.'

'Or otherwise.' And they had let that subject drop.

He'd let his attention wander. Only for a few seconds, but it was enough. For there, stepping up from the invisible stream-bed, was a gossamer shape that flowed and flickered in and out of vision. He blinked to clear his eyes, peered again. There it was, pacing delicately as a cat, and with a cat's predatory purpose; white as the mist, with a mane falling almost blue over its neck, and eyes of a deeper blue. So might a unicorn have appeared from the mists of legend. It tossed its beautiful head, the mane flying like the branches of a birch tree in a breeze – the birch-trees of Loch na h-Iolaire, he reminded himself, trying to hold on to that bright little memory.

'Windham.' A murmur, almost inaudible. His eyes darted that way. Ardroy was drawing his legs under him, ready to rise, and that broke the enchantment that the creature had laid on him. 'Is it there?'

It wheeled, stamped the ground with an imperative forefoot, paused, and opened its jaws: and now he could see its teeth.

For an answer, he raised the pistol, knowing it would be useless, and aimed it straight at that beautiful creature. He had to entice the thing closer. He stood side-on, arm outstretched, and waited as it built a storm-front of fury – and indeed the wind and the rain suddenly redoubled in force.

Hold fire. Hold fire. Get it closer. He left the shelter of the cliff-face, and walked forward a few paces. 'I hold King George's commission,' he said. 'As God's my witness: I'll destroy you.'

The thing flinched at the name of God. Then it lowered its head and was at him, fast as a whiplash.

One shot. The crash of the pistol startled it, and the ball must surely have gone right through -

He tossed the first pistol away with a show of panic, flinching back a couple of steps. The second pistol. Up. Fire. The thing was past Ardroy now. He had to get it further from him. Back another couple of steps, snatching at his sword-hilt. The water-horse was on him as he drew the cold iron, but shied away as he swung it up. Not what he wanted. 'Get back here, you bastard thing!' he shouted, and sprang after it. 'Don't you run from me!'

It turned and reared. Hooves whistled past his head. 'Is that the best you can do?' A sudden vivid memory of battles in Flanders, the French cavalry in all its might. His arm thought for him, his sword bit. The creature screamed; its mane whipped his face. Burned like acid. It lunged for him, caught his arm in a mouth full of blades. He shouted in fury, shortened his sword, thrust at its flank. A horse's scream; the jaws let go. Now it was like being at the centre of a storm, with just those liquid eyes gleaming now and again and the stink of it near choking him -

It backed off, screeching high and furious. Keith had a sudden brief glimpse of Ardroy's russet hair and a whirl of tartan - he must have struck and struck true, but he wasn't supposed even to be close – Keith stumbled forward, throat thick from the carrion stink of it, slashed down across the creature's hocks. Hamstrung, its hindquarters collapsed. Ardroy was at its head, took a handful of mane to drag its head back, cried out and let go.

And now the legs were moving under it again, trying to lift it up. Keith gave a wordless yell of frustration, swung savagely up and cut deep into its belly. Ardroy came in on the other side with a blow to the flank.

Iron upon iron. 'What now?' he panted.

'Its throat.' Ardroy was all but collapsing.

Keith snapped, 'Keep your eyes _open_.' Viciously he kicked the head right back, swung his sword high and brought it down in a brutal blow, and then leapt away from the spray of pale blood. Then he staggered round to Ardroy, and dragged him away from the beast. And as he did so, its eyes lost their living light and it shrivelled in on itself, its flesh writhing back from the sword-cut, its mane and tail falling out of the vanished body.

Keith had no time to watch; his arm was under Ardroy's, and they were both breathing in great gasps. 'Might it have a mate?' he asked.

'I've never heard that they do.'

'Back to the cliff, though. In case.'

They staggered back there and finally let themselves slide to the ground, backs against the rocky cliff-wall. A few tense minutes passed; but there was no sound of sign of another such creature. The rain began to fall again, but more quietly now. They looked at each other.

'That's a fight like no other I've ever had. Or heard of, indeed,' said Ardroy.

'Let's not congratulate ourselves just yet. We still have to survive the night.' Keith looked at his arm, which was now hurting like hell. The sleeve of his uniform was sliced apart, the flesh beneath likewise, but there was not much blood; instead, his arm throbbed from the teeth-marks. 'How does your leg?' he asked.

'Wrenched. Painful. Well enough. We must see to that bite.'

'All right.' He shifted about, and pulled his brandy-flask from his pocket, and set it on the ground. Then he got himself out of his coat, not without difficulty, and went to untie his sash. The task was nigh impossible, for he could not bend his elbow far enough. 'You'll need to help me with this.'

Ardroy slewed round, and a moment later his fingers were busy at the knot in the sash. Between them they got it unwound; a couple of yards of strong silk which, when unfolded, would provide clean enough bandages. Ardroy produced a small, sharp knife, and sliced off a fairly short length; at Keith's protest, he said, in a tone that brooked no demurral, 'My leg can wait. We'll see to that arm first,' and indeed it was now stinging ferociously. The brandy, splashed on it, only redoubled the pain. Keith went dizzy for a moment, his face and hands wet with sweat; but when he ducked his head, it cleared quickly enough, and a moment later he saw Ardroy knotting the silk about his arm.

'It's the best I can do, Windham,' he said apologetically. 'It really needs a doctor. I am hardly qualified.'

'Better than most field-surgeries I've endured,' said Keith lightly, though his teeth were clenched against the pain. 'Now, your leg.'

Between them they got the leg, with its huge puckered scar, bound up with another length of silk; then they leaned back again and caught their breath.

'The light's going,' remarked Keith. 'We'll be here for the night. I must get the pistols.'

He levered himself to his feet, put his uniform coat back on, its sleeve all stiff with his own blood, and collected them; reloaded, fumbling with ball and powder, and handed one to Ardroy, who took it without comment. The fog lost its luminosity. Out there beyond it their men were searching, perhaps; or perhaps had fallen prey to the water-horse. Not a shout or shot broke the silence here in the little valley.

-x-

'How far can you walk?' he asked after a while.

'Far enough,' answered Ardroy, which Keith mentally translated as 'Not far at all.' And if, with his assistance, they reached the shores of Loch Nevis, what then? His patrol, wherever they were, would surely outnumber Ardroy's men - and be better-armed, too.

He sighed, and did his best to shut his mind to the sequence of events that would inevitably follow, and was surprised out of his thoughts by Ardroy laying a hand upon his wrist.

'Windham. Don't worry.' Keith looked round, certain that his miserable thoughts had been read, and sure enough Ardroy was smiling at him. 'We're both soldiers. I knew what I risked when I went to Glenfinnan – just as you do, every time you go into battle. It's the fortune of war.'

'Or the hand of fate. That heron was determined we should meet, I have no doubt.'

'And yet we've each chosen our own path this last year, or we wouldn't be here. So - ' with determined practicality - 'before we do anything else, we should eat. I have some dried venison,' and he produced a packet from his coat. 'How about you?'

'A few biscuits.'

'We'll eat like kings, then!'

And sitting there in the gathering dusk, they consumed their dry and unappetising repast, and Keith got himself over to a trickle of water that ran down the rock face to help wash down their meal. The effort involved in doing that further convinced him that the task of reaching the loch-side would be next to impossible: and who knew what dangers might lie in between?

If it were not for the hot swelling in his arm, he might not have believed that they'd survived a fight with a creature out of fable and legend, but just on the edge of clear sight there was still a blue tangle of mane and tail; his arm hurt abominably, and close at his side was a Jacobite chieftain, who would most assuredly be elsewhere, were circumstances not so dire.

He must have dozed for a while, and woke to see Ardroy sitting, head up and pistol on his knees, staring out into the twilight; a while later, Ardroy's head lolled against his shoulder, and Keith took over sentry-duty.

And a while later again, there was light, both silver and gold. The silver was moonlight, which penetrated through the mist even though she was voyaging far above its cloying embrace. And the gold was lamplight; a path of it laid along the little valley towards them.

'Ardroy.' He nudged him awake.

'What is it? Oh...' Both of them, wide awake now, stared into the golden radiance with dismay in their hearts. Far better a night spent in the open, with only each other for help and company, than another unaccountable threat. It was too late to escape, however, even if they had been capable of such animation, for someone was walking towards them down that golden pathway.

'Not my men,' whispered Ardroy.

'Nor mine,' said Keith, even though they had a lantern or two among their gear. They could not walk so soft-footed quietly, and in any case, this was only one person who was approaching. Strangeness piled on strangeness – for he now saw where the light came from. The ferny mound that bulked high at the valley's entrance now had a door, and it was from this that the warm light spilled.

Keith levelled his pistol. 'Declare yourself!' A peremptory challenge.

Those near-silent footsteps halted. 'It is surely for you to declare yourselves, strangers as you are here.' A woman's voice! Keith could feel Ardroy's surprise as his own. 'But I am called Lufe. Sir, you who killed the water-horse are welcome here.'

Ardroy's hand was back on his wrist. A quick, low whisper. 'If the tales are true... Windham, don't offer violence, but keep your sword close.'

'What do you mean?'

'That's a fairy mound, if I'm not mistaken.'

Keith was about to scoff, but he remembered the water-horse in time, and his words died before they could be spoken.

'The Gael has it right.' The woman spoke again. 'This is the Sidh Nevis, as you would have it. We know of your battle - '

'You know of it? Then why did you not aid us?' asked Keith, incensed.

'We are not what we once were. And the mound doors were not open. Only when the moon rose - '

'And you couldn't hunt the creature at any other time?'

'We have not the cold iron. Do not judge us until you know more of us.'

'As you wish, madam.' Keith was indifferent. The conversation was ended as far as he was concerned. Ardroy made a small noise, perhaps of amusement, at his side.

'You are injured. I am here to offer you our aid, if you wish it.'

'Keep your sword close,' repeated Ardroy at his side. He raised his voice. 'We'll be well enough, we thank you.'

'The offer is not made to you, Gael. It is to the Saxon only.'

'What? No.' Keith's answer was immediate and terse. Ardroy, meanwhile, looked completely taken aback.

Keith turned towards him. 'Can you walk? We should go, I think.'

'Yes, if you help me.' Ardroy still looked dazed. They helped each other up, a difficult and awkward business, and began to move slowly towards the mouth of the valley, paying no further attention to Lufe.

They were halfway there when there was a murmur of voices, and swift, light footsteps pursued them.

They paused in their slow progress and looked round. It was Lufe again. 'I'll not have it said of the Sidh Nevis that we're ungracious; and the night may have dangers for you yet. So - Saxon and Gael both, then.'

'What do you think?' Keith murmured, for Ardroy's ears alone.

'I think...' Ardroy sighed suddenly. 'She's right, the night may be dangerous, and we're hardly in a fit state for another battle. I say we accept their offer. But keep your sword _close_ – and remember God's name.' He looked utterly tired out.

Keith addressed the woman. 'Well then, madam, we will go with you, and we thank you for your hospitality.' He managed to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

'Then be welcome,' she said with grave courtesy, and called out to the people at the door of the mound, 'Make ready for our friends!' Then she added, 'And since I have given you my name, may I know how to address you? For I think 'Saxon' and 'Gael' do not please you.'

Ardroy paused for a heartbeat. Then he said, 'I'm laird of Ardroy. My friend is a Major of the British Army.'

'Egad,' said Keith, 'you may call me Major, or Saxon, or what you will, if you will only let me _sit down_.'

'Well, Ardroy, maybe you will learn to trust us in time. But the Major has the right of it; come you in to the Sidh Nevis!'

The door of the sidh, when approached,was seen to be of a rough construction; two massive stone posts and a lintel, equally weighty, were carved with designs of circles and spirals that made Keith's eyes swim slightly - or perhaps that was his bone-deep weariness.

On the threshold Ardroy halted, and said, 'You'll not object if I leave this here?' In his hand was the short knife he had used to cut Keith's sash.

'If you must,' replied Lufe with distant courtesy, and Ardroy bent and dropped it on the threshold; Keith observed these goings-on with, he was sure, an expression of complete incredulity on his face.

'Your friend thinks to hold open the sidh door until you leave,' explained Lufe. 'Otherwise, he fears you will spend a hundred years here in one night. We sidhe cannot touch iron; it's how the Gaels drove us back to the mounds, long ago.'

'Long ago seems too long to hold a grudge against this particular Gael,' said Keith pointedly. 'And without iron, the water-horse would still be roaming free.'

Ardroy added, 'Surely, madam, you understand that we mortals must be careful in your realm.'

'Should we ever reach it,' said Keith to him with some asperity. 'Since we're resolved on going in, shall we not do so? I for one am sick of this fog.'

Lufe smiled at him, and crossed the threshold; they followed, and the narrow passageway opened out into a long, warm chamber, the roof of which soared away into darkness. But at their level was golden firelight, lamps burning, and the people of the Sidh Nevis; tall and slender, adults and children both, dressed in garments of white and red, patterned in designs that resembled tartan not in the least. Nor was the red as strong as the one he wore; but then, few things were.

There were a score of them or more, crowding close round the visitors from the outside world. 'Let them be!' She shooed them off. 'Cuifre, where are you? Ah yes. They'll need their hurts tended.'

Cuifre, a man of maturer years (and this seemed odd to Keith, who in the last quarter-hour had gained the impression that these people should be forever young) took Ardroy's free arm, and between them, he and Keith got him to a side-chamber, built of dry-stone walling that enclosed them like a beehive.

'My friend has more urgent need of help than I,' said Ardroy, and by now Keith was too dizzy to demur.

'Sit you both down, then.'

The stone benches were very welcome. Keith sank upon one of them with a sigh, and held out his arm for inspection. He had a vague impression of being extracted from his coat; then his sleeve was folded back, and the bite-wound washed and salved and re-bandaged, with sudden sharp pains as the doctor did his work. Another salve was applied to his face, where the water-horse's tail had lashed across it. Then he leaned his head against the stonework behind him and dozed while Ardroy took his turn; 'That's a dreadful scar you have there; what happened?' he heard Cuifre ask.

'There was a great battle,' said Ardroy. 'We were defeated.'

'You and your friend?'

'No, we were on opposing sides.'

'You are enemies, then?'

'Yes.'

Keith opened his eyes at that, turned his head to look at Ardroy with raised eyebrows, and - encountering a wry smile - felt his own mouth quirk in response.

'He saved my life afterwards,' continued the enemy in question.

'For what reason I know not, since you seem intent on throwing it away again,' remarked Keith.

'That's a tale we'll all want to hear, as well as the story of your fight just now,' said Cuifre, and having finished with Ardroy's leg, moved round to the hand that had snatched at the water-horse's mane. 'Hold still, now.'

Beyond the doorway to this little chamber, there were sounds of preparation; there was the prosaic noise of furniture being shifted, Keith was sure, and the firelight grew brighter. Someone was tuning a harp.

'Drink, Major.' Cuifre was holding a beaker to his lips. Keith took a swallow, made an involuntary face, and said, 'Now I know you're a doctor, sir.'

'It will do you good,' said Cuifre with an authentically medical lack of sympathy. 'You too, Ardroy.'

The doctor's ministrations seemed to be helping; the sick pain in his arm had receded a little, and he no longer felt so dazed. 'I'll need to see those wounds again in the morning, but for now...' Cuifre waved them towards the door of his surgery. 'Go, I'll join you in a while.'

There was a long table set out in the main chamber, with vessels of bronze and silver and – surely those beakers were gold? - upon it. He and Ardroy were installed in wooden chairs, covered with bearskins; they were blessedly comfortable.

He had a dim impression of a honey-sweet drink, which served to cover the taste of Cuifre's draught, and of roast pork, with everyone waiting for him to begin; and bread and apples and small sweetmeats. Beyond Lufe, he could hear Ardroy's voice telling the story of the water-horse - and the harpist, saying that four times a year the walls of the worlds grew thin, and managed for politeness' sake not to comment on the ridiculous nature of this statement.

A while later Ardroy seemed to be talking about Loch Oich side, and Edinburgh, and... Keith lost the thread, but he saw that the harpist, whom they addressed as Lon, was listening intently; making mental notes, no doubt.

'Five times,' she said at one point. 'I see no reason...' Keith was sure he should interject now and then, for Ardroy seemed to be exaggerating Keith's role in things, but although the pain in his arm was now merely a fierce prolonged stinging sensation, he did not quite have the energy.

'Major, you're all but asleep,' came Lufe's voice. 'You should be in bed.'

Keith, appalled at his lack of manners, made to demur - but Lufe was at his side in an instant, helping him to stand, and piloted him towards another side-chamber. Lon likewise helping Ardroy, they made their slow way towards the end of the long hall, some little distance from the feast at the fire; but the golden light reached them still. And here, beyond a deer-hide curtain, was a most welcome sight; a bed piled high with pelts, and sheets of what looked like fine linen.

'Sleep you now, warriors.' Keith blinked at the appellation, but Lufe continued, 'No, there's no need to look like that, for it's true. Rest, and in the morning we'll say our farewells. But you've our gratitude nonetheless; remember that.'

'We did no more than was needed, and that's no more than our duty,' managed Keith, suddenly feeling impossibly English; except that Ardroy was adding confirmation.

'Obdurate rock, the pair of you. You fit well here. Sleep,' and she pointed at the pile of bedding.

The two women left, dropping the deer-hide behind them. Golden light still trickled round its edges – and, shortly afterwards, soft notes of harp-music, and Lon's sweet voice. Keith, feeling utterly out of his depth, exchanged a baffled look with Ardroy.

'We'd best do as they say. There's little else we can do tonight.' With that, Ardroy undid his sword-belt, placing the sword close by his side of the bed. A few moments later Keith, having wrestled off all the accoutrements that an officer of King George’s army habitually wore into battle - and his clothes, too - put on a nightshirt that was laid ready; and slid into the warmth and comfort of the bed.

Ardroy sat on its edge for a short while, and Keith turned his back to give him privacy to cope with his injury; but a minute or two later there was a rustle of bed-covers, and a sigh, and Keith knew that he was safely down.

'I'm still not sure I believe any of this,' said the King's soldier, and a sense of grievance was plain in his voice.

'There's little enough reason why you should. But then, my foster-father saw the two of us meeting time and again, and here we are: and I for one have no wish to go out through that door to see if the water-horse was real or no.'

'I'll admit that neither have I. Tomorrow, in broad daylight, is time enough.'

'Until tomorrow, then. Goodnight, Major.'

It might be a matter of the earlier caution that had denied the sidhe their proper names; but Keith found himself answering quietly, with he knew not what motive, 'Good night, Mac 'ic Ailein.'

His pronunciation was undoubtedly execrable; and sure enough there was a breath of laughter. 'Saxon.' Then there was a movement as Ardroy shifted onto his side; then silence, but for quiet breathing, and harp-music, like a lullaby, from the main chamber.

-x-

But later in the night, there was a muttering beside him; Keith's hand shot out from the bed-clothes towards his sword before he had more than half-woken. It was no creature of the mist and rain crawled into the stone chamber, though; it was Ardroy, and there was no nonsense now about _Major_ , or even _Windham_.

'Keith, be careful. Be careful. It'll have you... why do you have to be so damned brave?'

'What?' Keith, though he had barely begun to wake, knew that he sounded completely blank.

'I can't get to you. Can't help you. I can't lose you. Keith!' There was alarm in that voice now, for all that it was barely more than a whisper.

Abruptly Keith realised what was happening. Still mazed by sleep, he gripped Ardroy's shoulder. 'It's all right! Wake up!' Hardly the most articulate of responses, but it was all he could manage at this moment; and Ardroy had to be quieted instantly.

A waking gasp. Ardroy froze, utterly still under Keith's reassuring hand. 'Windham?'

'You were talking in your sleep. It's _all right_. We're safe.'

'In my sleep?' Ardroy sounded as if he were still half in its toils. 'Ah, no, not again. What did I say this time?'

'Nothing of any consequence. You were dreaming, that's all.' Then, realising that this was hardly fair to Ardroy, 'You thought we were fighting the water-horse again.'

A pause. Then, carefully, 'It wasn't of no consequence. I remember now.'

With the sensation of a swimmer about to enter a region of deep and unknown waters, Keith tried to find words, and could barely do so. 'It's common enough, after a battle. Think no more of it, I beg.'

'That wasn't just a battle memory. That was pretty revealing, was it not?'

'Yes.' His hand still gripped Ardroy's shoulder, and he shook it slightly, hoping his touch conveyed reassurance. 'The mind plays tricks.'

'Yes.' A quiet, almost reflective response. Keith gave the shoulder a final reassuring squeeze, and withdrew his hand. There was a pause, of several seconds. 'No. That was no trick.'

And now it was Keith's turn to be silent, while his mind grappled with the implications for surely Ardroy could not mean – Of all the emotions he was experiencing, incredulity was uppermost, and he could hear it plain in his voice when he spoke. 'You... me?' and he could not articulate the middle word in that short sentence - whatever it might be.

'Yes. You. I'm sorry, Windham. I'll go. I can sleep in the main hall...'

'Wait.' Keith fought for his wits.

Ardroy, already getting up, stayed his departure; Keith was sure he was waiting in dread. 'There's no need to go.' Ardroy got slowly back under the covers, and waited in frozen stillness. And still Keith could not quite find the words. Then, and in the end it was very simple, he knew what to say.

'Ewen.'

There was a quick breath. 'Keith.'

As declarations went, these effusions lacked something. But now he reached out again, fumbling, and found Ewen's wrist, and his hand closed round it, feeling the pulse running in it as fast as a stream in spate; as fast as his own before a battle.

He rolled over, hissing a little as his inflamed arm caught in the bedclothes, and looked into Ewen's face, dim in the light that came round the edges of the deer-hide curtain. Ewen was pale, and Keith was sure his own visage was no different. They looked at each other in something approaching terror. Therefore there was only one thing to be done, and since Ewen had made the first declaration, involuntary though it had been, Keith accordingly did it; he leaned across and kissed his mouth; perhaps the bravest act of his career, for there could be no retreat from it.

There was a surge of movement. Ewen's wrist twisted free from his grasp and that arm delved under Keith's shoulders; Ewen's other arm was around him too. He returned the embrace, carefully because of that bite wound on his forearm, but with some urgency. They kissed again. He could feel Ewen's heartbeat thudding against the wall of his chest, and knew his own matched it for speed and power.

'I never thought...' he said, when some shreds of rationality returned, and Ewen replied, 'What? That this could happen?'

'I never even thought of it happening.'

'Nor I, till I got safe home to Ardroy and found myself reminded of you at every turn. And in the end, I realised why.' Ewen heaved up on one elbow now, looking seriously down at Keith. 'It's not supposed to happen...'

'But it does. It does. Especially in wartime.'

'Between enemies?'

'No, that's not so common! But there are strong bonds forged, nonetheless. I've seen it happen, though never to me before.'

'They feel like unbreakable bonds.' They kissed again. Ewen's unbound hair whispered across Keith's face and shoulders, bringing a fleeting memory of Lydia's doing the same; but Lydia's hair had smelled of powder and roses, and had been gold under the powder; that had been false coin. But it was gunpowder he could smell on Ardroy's hair, and bracken, and rain, and he would never deal in false coin, and Keith stroked his hand through the russet waves, and kissed him again. Ewen, smiling against Keith's mouth, touched his fingertips softly to the cheek scarred by the water-horse's mane, but then he dropped back onto the pillows with a grunt. 'Ah, this leg – for all that Cuifre has eased it... and we should not do more this night, anyway.'

'No. No, we should not. Nor do I believe I can.' For his arm had begun to protest violently at its usage, holding Ewen so tightly and so close, and the pain was now flooding up into his shoulder. 'But it's enough, for tonight.'

'More than enough. Keith, I'll sleep soundly now; you need not fear that I'll disturb you with talking again.'

'If that's to be the content of your talking, you may disturb me whenever you wish.'

They smiled at each other through their tiredness and their various pains, and Keith's hand crept out again, and slipped round Ewen's. Ewen's fingers curled upwards and stroked over his own, and twined with them into an interlace as close as that carved over the sidh door, which warmed his heart quite foolishly; and thus hand-fast they slipped down towards sleep once more.

-x-

Keith was roused by a woman's voice from beyond the doorway. 'Moonset - '

He blinked, half-awake, and heard the rest of the sentence, ' - before long. Guests, awaken.'

He knew Lufe's voice now, but despite this was half-convinced that the adventures of yesterday, and last night's revelation, were but dreams. But there was Ewen, waking likewise beside him, and turning a sleepy half-smile on Keith which was in a fair way to melt his tough soldier's heart, and there also were the furs and linen of the bed, and the smooth pillows, all as he remembered them.

'Major. Ardroy,' came Lufe's voice again. 'Daybreak's not far off. Rouse up!' A white hand grasped the curtain, and Keith, who had begun to climb out of the bed, hastily swung his legs back under the covers.

Not before time; Lufe stood framed in the doorway, looking just as elegant as she had the night before, and surveying them both with a smile.

'Good morning, madam,' said Keith, grasping at the shreds of his dignity.

'Not quite morning yet, but you must leave us soon; come break your fast, and we'll set you on your way.'

She dropped the curtain and was gone. Keith looked surreptitiously at Ewen, and met a sidelong glance in return; they smiled sheepishly at each other, turned their backs and dressed with speed. It was easier than undressing had been the night before; Cuifre's ministrations had continued to do their work during the latter part of the night. Shaving was impossible, for he would need to spin a tale of being benighted on the mountain when he rejoined his men - and maybe being attacked by wild dogs to explain his lacerated arm - so he would have to look like a ruffian until then.

Cuifre now looked in on them too, and said, 'I'll want to check you over before you go; now who's first?' A glance told him that Ewen was not ready yet, so Keith went with Cuifre to his surgery, and had the bite dressed again, though the inflammation had reduced considerably. When he returned to the main chamber, Ewen took his place; but Keith stood and stared at what he saw.

The main chamber of the sidh looked very different from the scene it had held last night. Gone were the candles and the leaping firelight, and the couple of dozen of tall, slender sidhe-folk. Now the table held plain bread and honey, and a jug and beakers; and at its end sat Lon, sketching with a stick of charcoal, on a much-scraped piece of parchment; a bird with a long beak... A heron.

But what held his attention was the scene that lay beyond a door swung wide at the far end of the chamber, at which he gazed for what seemed like a transfixed hour. He heard Ewen return to the chamber, and looked round briefly and gestured towards the open doorway.

Colours like the springtime of the world, and a landscape of hills encircling a green bay with white beakers surging in; fishing-boats further out, and close at hand flowering meadows, full of sheep herded by racing children; all under a harebell sky.

He had taken a step forward when Ewen laid a hand on his sleeve. Scarlet sleeve, the uniform of a soldier of King George.

And Lon, rising from the table to join them, said, 'You may go, if you wish. But that is the Otherworld, of which the Sidh Nevis is but the threshold, and when you returned you'd find that the world had changed.'

Ewen nodded, though he looked as dazzled as Keith felt. 'So the stories tell. It's perilous, though a land of wonders – and a wonder to have seen it. But that is the door I'll be taking.' He gestured towards the door which led out to the mundane world. 'Though all my life I may wish I'd gone the other way.'

Keith shook his head to clear it of enchantment, and - with one last glance at the bright Otherworld - turned back to the table and the plain fare laid out on it. He addressed himself to bread and honey, while Lufe filled their beakers with what Ewen informed him was heather-beer. And, while thus occupied, he dragged his mind to the problem of what he should do next - for as he had been so recently reminded, he was a soldier of King George - and here, close at hand, was one of King George’s sworn enemies, which enemy he'd kissed in the sanctuary of the sidh last night.

Well, if it came to it, he'd go to Carlisle to give evidence at Ewen's trial. That was the best he could do. In the meantime, he could hardly march the man who had aided him in the battle with the water-horse down the glen at pistol-point.

And yet. These people owed Ewen a debt too, by that same act; he had helped rid them of the water-horse. He sighed.

'What ails you, Major?'

'Madam. I must take my leave now; my men - '

'Your wounds no longer pain you?'

He stood up; even in the quarter-hour that had elapsed since Cuifre had seen to them, they had eased further. 'They do not incommode me in the least, madam, for which you and your people have my profound thanks.'

'And you, Ardroy?'

Ewen was on his feet, and paced the length of the chamber, spun on his heel at the door of the Otherworld and came back to the table, smiling. 'It's been so long... months... but I can walk easily again. Madam, my gratitude, always!'

'Not needed; between you, you killed the water-horse!'

'Nevertheless.' Keith bowed, and took her hand and kissed it, which action seemed to afford her some amusement; though she laid a hand on his bent head as if in blessing.

'Go well, soldier of King George. Be safe. You have our thanks.'

He turned awkwardly to Ewen and words failed him; he could not bring himself to make the suggestion that hovered on his lips, for all that he hoped Ewen would wait here a while until he himself was gone.

'Don't look like that, Major,' Ewen answered his inarticulacy. 'Lufe and I have arranged it while you were with Cuifre. I'll stay awhile until you're gone. Your men will not find me or mine, I swear.'

Keith gave a huff of laughter, or relief, he could not tell which, at having his thought divined so accurately, and said, 'I'll be on my way, then. My thanks for your hospitality, and that of the Sidh Nevis and all your folk.'

'Nay - the thanks are ours to give, for your valour in destroying the water-horse.'

'And for the delight of hearing your tales,' Lon added, and with Lufe escorted him and Ewen to the door - the door which gave on to the modern world, not that lambent Otherworld, though he stole a final glance at it as they turned away.

Once through the narrow entrance, and out into the little glen where they had fought their desperate battle, the two women stood aside and let them go on together; very mundane that place seemed to him now, though the mists were like mother-of-pearl in the light of the early Highland dawn, and small birds hopped and chirped in the oaks and birches round about.

'Take heed of her words, Keith. Be careful.' Ewen was very serious.

'To the best of my ability. And be careful yourself, Ewen.' He stumbled over the name; the first time he had spoken it outside of the bed in the sidh. It brought back memories of those coup de foudre kisses, and he could see Ewen remembering them too. He knew he could not embrace Ewen again, let alone kiss him, there in the very forecourt of the sidh - and once he had had that thought, he wished that he could do at least the first of those things.

But Ewen turned aside slightly, gesturing at the little trees, all hung with moss and lichens, that overshadowed them.

'Oak,' he said. 'My clan-badge. Do you remember how we first met, with you under an oak-tree and ready to fight me and Lachlan and the entire clan, if need be?'

'Yes, I do. So we met under the aegis of Clan Cameron, then? I might have guessed it!' Thus he fumbled for normality.

'Indeed we did.' Ewen reached up and broke off a spray of leaves, loosing a shower of chilly dewdrops from the tree as he did so. 'Take this, if you will.'

Keith took it from his hand and put it away carefully in his breast pocket; and then, quite without his own volition, his arms went round Ewen, who returned the embrace. What little he could see over Ewen's shoulder - glen and fairy mound and the women of the sidhe standing beside it - swam slightly in a surprising manner. 'I've nothing to give you in exchange.'

'No, I've a piece of your sash, remember? And my life, many times over. I've forgotten how many.'

'See that you take care of it, then,' said Keith gruffly, and let his arms drop and stood back half a pace.

Ewen caught his breath suddenly. 'Yes, and you should do the same. Keith, forgive me; I had forgotten in all that's happened! But speaking of Lachlan just now – he's vowed vengeance against you. He blames you for my capture. I was warned of it at Ardroy, and told my foster-father that you were not to be harmed, and indeed I think Lachlan must be dead by now. But, Keith - be careful.' He put a hand on Keith's good arm, and looked seriously into his eyes.

'Lachlan. Well, he's wanted to kill me since that day under the oak-tree. Yes, I'll be careful, and I thank you for the warning.' They stood like that a moment longer, utterly tongue-tied, then he said, 'I must go,' and Ewen released his arm, and he turned away and strode into the mist that wreathed about the Sidh Nevis; and when, after a few paces, he glanced back, the little glen and all that lay within it had vanished from his sight.

END


End file.
